The Last Open Door
by Rachel Greenwood
Summary: Jack is a solidier in WWI, and Rose is a volunteer nurse when his injuries bring them together again. The love is still there, but six years is a long time. Do they have a chance for a new start?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I'm not a WWI scholar, so what I know about it comes from history classes and Google searches. I may get some of the details—like what food they would have had—wrong, so please be tolerant. This was originally going to be a one-shot, but as I kept writing, it wanted to go another way. **

_France—Spring 1918_

Jack felt as though he had never been anywhere else. At times, it was a struggle to remember life before he was shipped to France, before the roar of tanks and guns filled his head, before the mud, the foxholes, and the ever-present scent of death. He wasn't afraid. Most days he didn't feel much at all. Numbness seemed to be the safest course. Just get through it. He would become himself again when it was all over.

The other men carried photos of wives, sweethearts, parents, and children. They eagerly awaited letters from home. Jack carried a worn clipping from the _Philadelphia Times_. It read "Debutante Perishes in Sinking." In the photo that accompanied the short paragraph Rose smiled a doll's smile; her eyes were blank. The woman in the photo bore only a slight resemblance to the woman he had known, but it was the only photo he had of her.

They never found her, but there was a funeral anyway. He had watched the procession enter the church from across the street, her mother and Cal at its head. Cal wore an expression of pained stoicism, and Jack wondered how real it was. Was it Rose he was mourning or the idea of her? Or was it simply an act? He hadn't doubted Ruth's grief. She was shattered, clinging to Cal's arm for support. She seemed to have aged a decade in just a few weeks. Jack wanted to speak to her, but he didn't know what to say. _I love her too. I want her back too. _She wouldn't listen, nor would she believe him. When everyone was inside, he darted across the street and slipped into the shadows behind the last row of pews.

The service was cold and impersonal. No-one said anything about her, not the real her. Jack realized none of them had ever really known her, and he was overwhelmed by the urge to storm to the front and demand to be heard. Someone had to tell the truth. He couldn't let Rose be remembered this way. But he remained silent and out of sight.

As she passed, Ruth lifted her head and seemed to look directly at him. Jack shrank back against the wall, sure he had been caught, but she kept going. If she saw him, she said nothing. When the last mourner had gone he made his way to the front. He reached into a vase of roses and pulled out a handful, not caring about the thorns.

It happened so quickly. One moment, he was running, ready to leap into a foxhole, fully intact, and the next all he could hear was the roar of his own heart; the ground was gone, and so was the sky. All he could feel was pain. A sickening, burning ache filled his leg and shoulder. Dimly, he tasted dirt and blood. Was he lying down? The world spun when he opened his eyes.

He was being carried, but that was all he knew. Now his entire body ached. He wanted to open his eyes and speak, but he couldn't. The fog of pain was so heavy; just breathing against it was a struggle.

….

He wasn't sure where he was now, but the pain had receded. He could breathe more easily, and his eyes opened again. He looked up into Rose's face. A soft, white light glowed behind her. Her curls were pinned back, but a few had escaped and hung around her face. She peered down at him with concern. He tried to touch her, but hid arms were too heavy.

"Stay still," she said softly. "It's all right now. You're going to be fine."

It took all of his strength to lift his arm and touch her fac. She froze, startled by the gesture. "You're here," he said hoarsely. "Of course it'll be all right. I wondered if this is when I'd see you again." His eyes fluttered. The medication was starting to affect him more. A warm haze began washing over him. His hand dropped to his side. "Don't go, Rose," he murmured as the blackness swallowed him.

Rose could only stare at him. How did he know her name? Covered in mud and blood he looked like all of the other soldiers who came through the field hospital. His hair could have been blonde or brown; it was impossible to tell. But there was no doubt his eyes were blue, and they had recognized her instantly. It wasn't just another delusional man calling for a loved one; this man knew her. His touch sent a spark through her. It was something she had never expected to feel again. But it wasn't Jack. It couldn't be.

As she moved to dip a rag into the bowl of water next to his cot, she knocked his cost to the floor. Her hands shook as she picked it up. The name Dawson stared up at her, stitched on the front in black thread. She forced herself to take a deep breath.

Gently, she began cleaning his face. There were small cuts around his eyes and a bruise on his cheek. She let out a scream as her efforts slowly revealed Jack's features. Tears welled in her eyes. "It can't be you," she whispered. Her voice shook. "Where have you _been_ all this time?" She held his hand against her cheek and let the tears flow. "Where were you?" she demanded. She kissed his palm. "Why didn't we find each other?"

…..

For Jack, waking up felt like struggling to swim through thick, black mud. No matter how much he tried, he didn't seem to get anywhere. His eyes refused to open. His mind slowly grew clearer, but he still couldn't move. Dull pain shot from his leg and shoulder. _What happened?_ he wondered. His eyes finally opened. He found himself looking up at a white tent ceiling. The sheet covering him was coarse. His uniform had been removed; he wore only a pair of military issued undershorts. Who had done that? Slowly, carefully, he sat up. The pain in his leg and shoulder increased. His injuries had been expertly bandaged. He touched the sling that held his arm with a mixture of confusion and gratitude. Makeshift curtains separated his cot from the others. The sound of men groaning, murmuring, and sighing—in pain, grief, and delirium—filled the air. He breathed in the scent of antiseptic.

It began coming back to him in flashes. The battlefield, running, going down, and then _her. _Rose's concerned face, looking down at him, was all he could see.

Bu it couldn't have been her. He must have been hallucinating. She hadn't survived. Or had she? Her mother had a funeral for a girl that was never found, but that didn't mean she was lost.  
"She'd come here," he said to himself. He leaned against the cot in an attempt to swing his good leg over the edge and stand up. He placed his weight on the uninjured left, but with nothing to steady himself, he fell to the floor in a heap. He cried out in pain.

"What are you doing?" Rose's voice rang like a bell. He looked up to see her rushing toward him. She dropped to her knees. In one quick motion she had her arms around him and was lifting him up. He leaned on his good leg, griping her like a crutch. Their faces were just inches apart.

"Why did you think you could walk around?" Rose demanded. "Do you realize they pulled three bullets out of you last night?" Jack could only stare at her. "Well, say something!" she cried.

He grinned. "That accent still gets thicker when you yell at me," he said.

"I am not yelling at you!"

"What do you call it?" he teased.

"I call it being concerned with you welfare, and you should be too." Rose's tone softened. "You almost died, you know," she added. They each settled into the other's gaze. "I thought I was dying," he said. "When I saw you, I thought that was it." His heart pounded as the realization that it was all actually happening fully hit him. Rose was standing there; she was alive and holding him off the floor. "You took care of me," he said. "You cleaned me up, bandaged me, put my arm in the sling."

"And now I'm making you lie down," she said, lowering him onto the cot. She placed the sheet over him. "I don't want to catch you getting up again," she said. "Stay off of that leg." He took her hand. "That's all you can say?" he asked.

"Do you really need me to say it?" she replied. "Is how I feel not clear?" She put his hand between both of hers. "I already said it," she added. She kissed their mingling fingertips. "Words are so…inadequate." Rose blinked away tears. "What can I say to make up for any of it? The lost time? For not finding you?"

"What if I say I love you, and we forget everything else?" Jack suggested.

"We can't pretend six years of our lives didn't happen," Rose said. "What if you don't love me after you get to know me again?"

"Do you really think that's gonna happen?"

She shook her head. "But I don't know what's going to happen." She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. "You need to rest," she said briskly. "And I need to finish my rounds."

"You're leaving?" It came out louder than he intended.

"I'll be back soon," she assured him. "You're not the only person I'm supposed to be nursing." She squeezed his hand and set it down. "I'll try to get you something for the pain," she said. "I'm afraid you can't have any more morphine. It's too addictive, even if there were enough to go around, but maybe there's something else."

"It's not so bad," Jack said, trying to sound convincing. "I can barely feel it, and besides, I've been hurt worse."

"I'm sure you have," Rose said. "And being in a war is just another adventure, right?"

"No," he said. "Before today, the war was something I had to get through because I wasn't ready to die yet, but I wasn't sure what I was living for anymore. Now, I know."

"I really have to go," Rose said slowly. "I'll bring you something to eat."

She hurried away. Her heart pounded, and her hands shook. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she couldn't find the words. She wanted to tell Jack how much she had missed him and how hard it had been to make a new life on her own. But she had done it. Somehow, she had learned how to get along by herself. She got jobs and earned her own money. She cooked and cleaned for herself. The places she had lived were small and shabby, but they were _hers_. She bought train tickets and headed for the horizon, all by herself. When the U.S. entered the war, she volunteered as a nurse. She had to do something to support the war effort, and there was no-one to stop her from going. She wanted to tell him about the things she had done. She wanted to know everything he had done. And yet, there were things she was afraid to say; there were things she wasn't sure she wanted him to know.

She went through her rounds slowly, forcing herself to thoroughly complete each task in a vain attempt to block out the hum in her mind. She had never given much thought to whether Jack had been with other women before her. Without acknowledging it, she had just assumed he had. Perhaps it was his confidence, the ease with which he embraced her, or maybe it was that a man like Jack simply had to have an ex-lover in his past. So why was she worried about him knowing she had been with other men? Two, to be exact, and she had almost married one of them. What was wrong with her having other lovers?

She knew it was absurd, but she couldn't help worrying about his reaction. The question hung over her head: Would he still love her once he knew her again? Her heart said he would, but how certain could she be? When she saw and touched him it had all come rushing back; everything she felt for him hit her all over again. He was a part of her. She felt him in her soul, and she wasn't sure she could handle losing him again.

…

"Here you are," Rose said cheerfully. She placed a tray across his legs. "Oatmeal, toast, and some canned milk. I know it's not breakfast time anymore, but it's all they had."

"Rose—" he began.

"Oh, I found you something for the pain," she interrupted, reaching into her pocket. "I'm not sure how strong they are, but one of the doctors gave them to me. He said they would help." She placed two small, white pills next to the cup of milk. "Well, eat," she urged. "You must be hungry."

"Yeah, actually, I am," Jack said, taking a bit of the toast. She pulled an empty cot close to his and sat down. "When you're finished, I'll check your bandages," she said.

"You're really good at nursing," he said.

"Do you think so?" she asked. "I've sort of thrown myself into it. I thought I could do more here than anywhere else."

"Well, I'm glad you're here," he said with a grin. "I can't say I'm glad I got shot, though." For a moment, they simply gazed at one another. Rose broke the silence. "What were you doing before?"

"Not much of anything," he said. "I was still goin around from place to place, making enough to get by for a while and leaving whenever things got too routine." His eyes were thoughtful. "Now, I'm wondering if I wasn't trying to run away."

"Run away from what?"

"How I felt."

"About me?"

"About losing you, loving you, but not just that. There're other things too. I haven't really let myself think in a long time. I haven't thought at all since I got here. I couldn't if I wanted to stay alive." He popped the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the milk. "I guess you have to go again?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

"I'm finished," she said. He reached over and took her hand; he laced his fingers through hers. "So, you can stay for a while?"


	2. Chapter 2

The pills did help with the pain, but they also made me drowsy. Jack fought to keep his eyes open. His mind and body were enveloped in a warm haze. He felt weightless, as if he could float away at any moment. Rose sat by his side, holding his hand. She was talking, but it was impossible to focus on what she was saying. The words jumbled together in his ears, but the sounds of her voice was soothing, like a lullaby. He tried to speak, but his words came out slurred. He couldn't move properly. Rose leaned down and brushed her lips against his. "Go to sleep," she said. "You'll feel better if you rest. I'll be here when you wake up." His let his eyes fall shut and finally allowed sleep to overtake him, but he kept a firm grip on her hand.

Rose watched him. He looked so peaceful. He was just as tan as she remembered. His hair was shorter, but it was still golden blonde. She found herself wishing he would grow it out again, once they were back home. With a start, she remembered, they didn't have a home together. How could she have forgotten? She didn't even know where he had been living before the war. She had no home of her own anymore. She had given up her apartment in San Francisco. Everything she owned was either with her or stored with friends. She wasn't even sure she would go back and get any of it. When she thought of them, they didn't quite seem like her possessions anymore. The life she had led before the war seemed like a distant dream; it seemed like a life another woman had led. That was how she had always thought of her life before meeting Jack. None of the people she had known or things she had done felt real anymore.

The sun began to set. There was movement and voices around her as meals were distributed and patients checked on. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Curious looks were sent her way, but she didn't notice them. She wasn't wearing her nurse's uniform. That morning, she hadn't been able to find a clean one. Instead, she was wearing a light blue dress. She reached up with her free hand and pulled the pins from her hair. As the curls began to fall, she gave her head a shake to loosen them.

…

It was cold and dark. Jack was running, but he couldn't seem to get anywhere. His eyes refused to adjust to the inky blackness. The air around him was filled with screams, gunshots, and bombs exploding. With each step he became more and more afraid his feet wouldn't touch the ground again.

He didn't even know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stop. If he stopped, he would die. He felt as though his lungs would burst in his chest. All he wanted was to rest, to let himself fall.

"Jack!"

Rose's scream was little more than an echo. He wasn't sure which direction it had come from. "Rose!" he yelled, as loudly as he could manage.

"Jack!"

"Rose, where are you?"

It sounded like she was somewhere directly ahead of him, but in the darkness he couldn't be sure. "Rose!" he yelled again.

"Jack! I need you!"

The fear in her voice gave him the strength to run faster. He was sure he was going in the right direction. "I'm coming, Rose!" he called."

"Help me! Hurry, Jack!"

…..

"Jack! Wake up!" Rose tried to shake him without disturbing his injuries. His head rolled back and forth; he clutched her hand like a vise. "Rose!" he cried. "I can't find you."

"It's a nightmare," she said. "Jack, wake up!"

With a gasp, his eyes flew open. "You're alright!" he cried. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down to him. He held her against his chest with his good arm. Frantically, he kissed her hair. "I couldn't find you," he said. "I'm sorry. It was so dark. I just couldn't find you."

Rose wasn't sure what to do. She lay still and waited for him to calm down. His heart beat wildly against her ear. Gradually, it began to slow, and his grip on her loosened. He rested his cheek against her head. Slowly, she sat up. Nightmares were a common occurrence for the men in the field hospital, but she had never experienced one like this. "Are you alright now?" she asked gently.

"Yeah, I think so," he answered.

"What were you dreaming about?"

"You."

Rose tried to keep her tone light. "Do you do that often?"

"Not anymore," he said. "I don't dream much at all."

She couldn't help but ask. "Did you dream about me before?"

"Of course…did you dream about me?"

"I still do, sometimes, but it's always good."

"Mine were good too," he said. "You were with me, and everything was alright…the way it was supposed to be. It was never anything like this."

"Have you had dreams like that before?" Rose didn't want to push too hard, but she knew he should talk about it. If something was bothering him, he had to get it out. "A few times," he said with a shrug. She wanted him to say more, but she knew she couldn't make him.

"It's getting late," she said. "Maybe you should try and go back to sleep." Carefully, she climbed off him and moved back to her place on the other cot. "Will you leave?" he asked.

"I have to sleep too," she said.

"You could sleep here," he suggested. "That cot's empty." He tried to sound casual. "Unless you don't wanna—it's fine. Really." He didn't like the sound of the words. It sounded like he was trying to use guilt to make her stay, and he didn't want to do that. If she stayed, it had to be because she wanted to. However, he couldn't deny how much he needed her there.

"I'm not sure that's allowed," Rose said. "We aren't supposed to become involved with the patients." But what could they do to her? Send her home? She was a volunteer. She received no money for the work she did. A cot of her own and meals were all she was given. And what if they did send her home? Judging by Jack's wounds, they would send him home as soon as he was able to make the journey. At that moment, the realization that she had always intended to leave when he did fully hit her. As soon as she saw him, the decision had been made; she hadn't even stopped to consider the fact that he might have someone waiting for him. How could she even think of leaving his side?

"I'll stay," she said. She leaned forward and took his hand. Their eyes me, and a spark passed through them. It was at once new and familiar.

…

"Well, after that, I went down to Mexico," Rose said. Jack's eyes widened. "Mexico?" he said incredulously. She nodded. "Yes."

"By yourself?"

"By myself."

"I knew you could do it," he said.

"I'm glad one of us did. I was afraid the whole time. I just knew I would get lost or robbed or I thought, maybe I wouldn't be able to learn the language well enough to get by, and I wouldn't figure out a way to make money." Her words came out in a rush. "I wanted to head back to Arizona as soon as I left, but I knew there wasn't anything to go back to."

"I know that feeling," Jack said.

"It just pushes you forward, doesn't it?" she said. "It's so much easier to keep going when you know you have to."

"You could've settled somewhere," he pointed out. "Made friends. Met someone. Gotten rid of the feeling."

"No." She shook her head. "I couldn't have. At first, I was afraid of being found. I told myself that's all it was, but I think perhaps I just didn't want to be still anymore. And I just wasn't ready to answer questions or be close to anyone."

"Your mother doesn't know you're alive, does she?" he asked slowly.

"I sent her a letter," Rose said. "Two years after—after it happened. She never responded. I waited. I stayed at the same address for months. She died last year. I read about it in the newspaper, and I got a letter from a lawyer," she finished, looking down at her hands.

Jack gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry," he said. There were tears in her eyes, but she kept her voice steady. "It's fine," she insisted. "At least I tried, right? She and Cal must have worked out some kind of arrangement because everything was paid for and taken care of. I'm not sure how the lawyer got my address. She must have kept the letter I sent. That's how they knew I was still alive." She laughed sadly. "I guess they really didn't try to find me back then. At least—" She struggled to speak through the tears. She hadn't cried in so long, not about anything. Jack pulled her to him with his good arm. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed. "At least he didn't let her die poor," she finally choked out. "She would have hated that."

Jack held her as tightly as he could. "It's alright," he said. "It's gonna be alright."

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. "I don't know what came over me. I just—"

"You don't have to explain," he said. "We all need to cry sometimes. It's good for you."

"I've never cried in front of anyone," she admitted. "It feels strange, almost like being nude."

Jack gave her a reassuring smile. "I've seen you like that, remember?"

"You have, haven't you?" she said with a laugh. "Well, that was a long time ago. I may not look the way you remember." She realized she was talking the way she had that day on the ship; she was talking as if they had a future together, if it had already been agreed upon. "I shouldn't be so presumptuous," she said, moving away from him. He held on to her. "What are you talking about?" he asked, confused.

"Crying all over you," she explained. "Talking as though we have a future together already, just assuming when nothing has been said or decided—"

"Hasn't it?" His gaze locked on hers. "Do I really need to say it?" he asked. "Didn't you say that earlier?"

She nodded. "I did," she said sheepishly.

"But I'll say it, if you want me to," he said. "I want a life with you. I don't want to lose you again. When they send me home, I want you to go with me."

"I want that too," she said. "I keep thinking about us as though we've been together this whole time. It's stupid, really. It hasn't even been a day. It's crazy."

His eyes seemed to fill the world. She couldn't see any of the fear or doubt she felt in them. They were like two blue diamonds sparkling with love and hope. "Yeah, and that's why you should trust it," he said. "We were meant to be together. Maybe we were meant to have that time apart. I dunno, but I know we were meant to be together. Don't be afraid."

"I don't think I could ever be afraid of you," she said. "Or with you. I trusted you from the moment we first met. You were so annoying, but I felt safe with you."

He kissed her forehead. "You are," he said. "Whatever happened before, it doesn't matter. Right now, this is what matters."

"I'm not so sure," she said. "Jack, I'd like to just sweep those years aside—or parts of them—and pretend it's still 1912, but I can't, and I'm not sure we should try to. Things happened to us. We did things, and that matters."

He let out a sigh. "Please don't make me picture you with another man," he said. "I don't know if I can take that."

"Jealous?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "A little. I know I wasn't there, and you have the right to do what you want, but…I want it to have been me. I want to be the one touching you, kissing you…carrying you off to bed."

"You did that with other girls, didn't you?" She had to know. She was sure she already knew the answer, but she needed to hear it said.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I did."

"Before me."

"Before you."

"And after me."

"I know it sounds ridiculous and unfair for me to say I don't want you with other me. I—I can't believe anyone else could ever love you the way I do. I had fun with other girls, even after you. I—"

"You don't have to explain."

"No, I do. I'm glad you went on with your life. I'm glad you found people who cared about you, who made you feel that way. I just wish it had been me."

"I wish the other girls, the ones who came after, had been me," she replied. "I don't care about the ones before you met me."

"It wasn't the same," he said quietly.

"No," she said solemnly. "It wasn't."

"Rose, when we leave—"

She put her hand over his lips to silence him. "Not yet," she said. "Don't say it yet. Let's just take each day as it comes." She wrapped her arms around him, making sure to avoid his injuries. "Let's just hold each other for now."

He rested his head against hers. "I can be happy with that," he said.


End file.
